I like you a Latte
by phantrashnumber1
Summary: After a particularly bad argument with his mother, Dan storms out of his house, needing to shut the world out. What happens when his feet guide him to a mysterious coffee shop and he catches someone's eyes? Specifically, an artists' who can't seem to help drawing anything he finds fascinating? This is my second fic so I hope this is okay! Enjoy and please R&R! 3


By Phantrashnumber1

"Daniel James Howell, where do you think you're going?" my mother's shrill voice pierces as I totter downstairs, zipping up my black hoodie and plugging my earphones in simultaneously (which really, for someone as uncoordinated as me is a feat in itself).

"Young man get back in here this instant!" I roll my eyes at her comment and mumble a couple of words along the lines of "I'm just going for a walk, bye" and swiftly close the door behind me.

 _God._

I take a deep breath – chilling – to compose myself, and simply start walking down the road, not really paying attention as to where I'm headed, and opting to instead focus on the simple repetitive motion of my steps.

Lift. Extend. Drop. Roll. Push

Lift. Extend. Drop. Roll. Push.

I allow my anger to seep through the soles of my feet and direct it to the ground, propelling myself forward faster than I would usually go, my hands clenching and unclenching repeatedly with nervous energy. I let go of the breath I had been holding and put my music on shuffle, Muse soon filling my ears and easing some of the tension in my shoulders.

Time was soon a slipping concept for my mind, so I guess it's really no wonder that the next thing I'm aware of is standing at the entrance of a café, hand hovering before the door subconsciously. I check the time and realize I have been gone for probably more than I should have without calling my parents.

 _Screw them,_ I decide.

I fling the rustic door open and a gust of warm, sweet air hugs my form and pulls me in. The door shuts behind me as I look around, trying to recall if I had been here before.

 _Nope. I have never seen this place before._

 _Where the hell am I?_

I awkwardly shuffle to the counter and scan the overhead chalk menu, and after an acceptable amount of time spent contemplating the blackboard I order a Hot Chocolate from the blonde barista.

After paying, I move to the side waiting for my drink to be made, only to whip my eyes subconsciously to the corner of the room.

There, the bluest pair of eyes I have ever seen hold mine in an agonizing swirl of electricity, and I have to physically force my gaze away as the barista calls my name and hands me the hot beverage. I thank her and shake my head to clear my thoughts.

 _What the hell….?_

I look back at the man, taking in the rest of his form this time.

 _Well shit._

Standing – well, sitting – before me is the hottest man I think I have ever encountered. Aside from the cool blue eyes, black fluffy hair is posed gracefully in a side-swept fringe, a stark contrast to the pale smooth skin, accented by shadows created by his sharp cheekbones and nose. Long, lean limbs are crossed casually, extending comfortably across the table.

His form curls around a piece of paper on the table, sketching away furiously.

I take an uncertain step towards him, if only because of sheer curiosity, and lean in to see what he is drawing from two tables down, opposite him, as I sit.

I sip my hot chocolate as naturally as possible while secretly staring at this mysteriously intriguing man. He lifts his head up towards the counter, confusion (and… disappointment?) flits across his face for an instant, before realizing my presence at the nearby table. His eyes rake my body as I feel myself stiffen up and a blush begin to make its way up my neck.

His hand is immediately back to scratching the paper and his tongue pokes adorably out of his mouth as he continues his hasty drawing.

This continues for a couple more minutes, in which I really do try to make sense of the situation and who this man is, until a proud grin forms on his face, at which point he bolts up, barely taking the time to pick up his coffee along with the paper, and promptly plonks himself in the seat opposite mine, a radiating smile gracing his features as he hands me the artwork.

I'm left speechless as my eyes take in a bunch of sketches of my face with various expressions along with a beautiful recreation of my standing figure near the counter right on the side of the page, all done in pencil or black pen.

I look beautiful.

This man actually managed to make me look somewhat pleasing to the eyes, even somehow succeeding in making my hobbit hair look admirable. Honestly, if it weren't for the clothes and curly hair, I would never even guess this was me.

Mouth agape, I look up to face him, speechless for all it was worth.

Surprisingly, his face now only portrays a bundle of uncertainty and anxiety, his eyebrows knitting together adorably and worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

 _Wait what- adorably? Okay, calm down Dan, you do not know this man._

 _This man who started drawing you without asking for your permission first._

 _… This man who also portrayed you as beautiful and is showing you his drawings_ his brain helpfully supplied.

Just as I was about to ask him why he drew me like that (charming, but simply inaccurate, if you ask me) he blurts out an apology.

"Sorry!" he squeaks with a surprisingly low voice, a Northern accent leaking between words, "I totally shouldn't have just drawn you without asking you first and it was way out of line, I mean I was way out of line, but see the thing is I just can't help draw things when I find them beautiful but that doesn't excuse what I did and I'm sorry for my behavior but I'm rambling anyways right now so you probably just want me to shut up…" He looks up from behind his lashes with the guiltiest expression I have ever seen and a slight flush behind his cheeks.

 _Wait beautiful?_

Okay, there's no way this blush wasn't noticeable to him now.

"I, umm…" I tried. "Why did you draw me like that?" I blurt out.

His bashfulness turns into confusion.

"Drawn you like what?"

"Like I'm beautiful" I state.

"But you are" he retaliates.

Now we're both blushing and there's absolutely no way of ignoring it.

My eyes fall back on the drawing and I take in the skill of these seemingly rough sketches, however holding and capturing so much beauty which is really undeserved. In his 'version of me' my expression is a lot more intriguing and mysterious than it probably is in real life, and my clothes _do not_ look that good on me. Also, my hair is actually a bird's nest (or a mop, really, I'm not picky with metaphors), not these graceful locks cascading a few inches off the sides framing my face.

"And you're sure this is me?" I ask, skeptical.

His look is somewhere stuck between actual concern and a cracking smile (and I have to say it suits him).

"Does that not look like you? I have to say, maybe I have to rethink my whole career choice if I can't even draw a portrait" he teases.

"I am so not this good-looking"

"You're joking right? You're stunning."

"Coming from you? Have you looked in a mirror recently?"

"I'd much rather look at you if I could."

That last remark leaves me somewhat speechless, and both our blushes are definitely here to stay, if they weren't before.

"Thank you" I whisper.

"No problem" he says, and I look up, only to find he's still perusing my eyes, as if he were bored with studying the wooden grains on the table and decided to read my soul instead.

Out of the blue, the air around us was electric again, every other customer disappearing from existence as our eyes held strong and seemed to be telling each other stories, living lives together and getting to know each other in seemingly the easiest way possible.

Subconsciously, we had both leaned closer and closer together from across the table, weight resting on our crossed arms, although the rough push at our table from an elderly woman getting out of her seat and apologizing sweetly before going on her merry way left us aware of our proximity and our surroundings.

I checked the time only to see it was actually nearing midnight.

 _Shit, I am never hearing the end of this once I get home._

 _Wherever that is._

"Hey do you want a ride home?" he suggested.

I started at him for a moment too long probably, because he added, "you don't have to obviously! Only if you need it. I'm only asking because it's really late and you don't seem to have come here before."

"What, and I'm just supposed to get in the car with a strange man who draws innocent lost boys on lined paper and then uses it as a conversation starter? That just sounds like a kidnapping pedo to me…." I teased, poking my tongue out at him.

"Yeah right, like you actually know where you are and haven't enjoyed meeting me" he huffs.

 _He has a point._

"Alright, but just because it's so late, I'll take a ride with you home- …" I leave my sentence hanging, realizing I don't even know his name, although it does feel like I have known him for weeks.

"Oh right" he smiles shyly, "I'm Phil." He extends his hand for me to take, and its' comforting warmth leaves a sort of tingling happiness in me I just can't seem to place.

 _Wow_.

"Dan" I retaliate.

We stand up, and, after gathering the books and drawing material he had on him, we exit the café into the biting wind; thankfully his car isn't far off, and we clamber in what's probably his mom's old car ("Bessie" Phil said, though I'm not sure if he was referring to the car or just makes a habit of randomly pronouncing female names out loud while in company. It's kind of cute really. He's kind of cute).

Conversation flows surprisingly easily, and we find we have so much in common, a strange kind of tension keeping me on my toes throughout the whole exchange as the GPS calls out instructions at intervals. By the time the car (Bessie) slows to a stop in front of my porch (where the lights are still on. _Shit_ ) I don't ever want to leave the warm heat of the car – the heating system's warmth obviously. Nothing else. Nope. Not at all.

 _Dan who are you kidding, honestly_.

"So…" he muses.

"So…?" I imitate.

"Will I ever get to see you again?" He sounds hopeful but also teetering on the edge of a pit of nerves.

"Mmh… that really does depend, doesn't it?"

His face falls. "On?" he inquires.

"Whether I'll have your number to call you" I grin. He grins back.

After a short exchange of numbers, I know I'm supposed to leave and go into my house. And yet.

And yet.

I can't seem to bring myself to open the door, this time admitting temperature has nothing to do with it.

"Hey Dan?" Phil calls.

I turn to look at him, and a second later he's narrowed the gap between our faces.

And his lips are on mine.

I feel his hand grasp my own and place something between our hold, while shock wears off and suddenly I'm kissing him back.

And it's perfect.

His free hand at the back of my head cards through wild curls, and the soft pressure of his lips kindles something inside me that I never experienced before, tugging at every heartstring as our breaths mingle once we pull back.

"Hope I can see you again Dan" Phil jives.

As if I won't make sure to see him again after _that_.

"You better" I whisper, breath ghosting over his lips as I move to kiss his cheek and turn, getting out of his car swiftly and shutting the door behind me.

I rush inside the house – as quietly as possible mind you – and actually manage to sneak past my mom who fell asleep on the couch, probably intending by all means to wait up for me.

Once behind the safe confines of my own bedroom, I reach for the object he pushed into my open hand. I stare down at a folded up piece of A4 paper, the same sketches from earlier tonight, but with a couple of scribbled words I didn't notice him write down besides every drawing.

The first one my eyes land towards is the biggest sketch taking up almost half the page of me standing near the counter, where it's written _"Excuse me but I think you dropped something. My JAW"_

I giggle as I see the terrible pun in that, and move my eyes to the next drawing. _"Hey, I think you have something in your eye…. Oh wait, it's just a sparkle"._ Is he for real?

The following phrase actually obtains a snort out of me: _"if you were a vegetable you'd be a cute-cumber"_. Oh my god this guy is actually such a dork. My breath catches as I read on.

 _"I must be a snowflake, because I've fallen for you"_ was the final sentence, right next to the drawing on the bottom right of the page, the most stunning representation portraying me glancing sideways at Phil while holding my cocoa up to my lips and a small smile gracing my features. I got to say, I look quite beautiful in that one (all thanks to Phil's tweaking of reality obviously). My breath catches as the meaning behind it sinks in, and a fluttery feeling spreads from inside me, bubbling up in my throat until it's threatening to escape. My cheeks are hurting from smiling so much but I really can't help myself.

I smooth out the crinkled sheet and lay it on my bedside table, shimmy out of my clothing and tuck myself into bed (it being close to 1 AM). Before shutting off the light, I spend some time simply admiring his art, and decide I definitely wouldn't mind if I got to see more of his drawings every day. Or him. I definitely wouldn't mind seeing him.

I switch off the bedside table lamp and reach for my phone, shooting Phil a quick text after adding his number to my contacts.

A couple of seconds later my phone vibrates with an incoming text and I smile involuntarily, shutting off the screen and finally closing my eyes to dream up worlds painted in blue eyes and black hair.

To Phil:

 _I'm nacho date tomorrow night, but I could be_

To Dan:

 _Four plus four equals eight, but you plus me equals fate_

To Dan:

 _And who am I to fight fate?_


End file.
